The Heirloom Murders (18 page)

On top of that, the night was muggy enough to wring like a sponge. The popcorn machine had broken. The soda stand was a volunteer short. It was hard to breathe through a pervasive fog of insect repellant. It was hard to hear the soundtrack over the sound of a hundred hands slapping at mosquitoes which were, evidently, indifferent to the repellant.

Skeet, who was supposed to be working with him, had been called to an accident in the township. So the glory is mine and mine alone, Roelke thought. Were any Police Committee members in attendance? He really didn’t want to know.

Finally, he headed back to the squad. T.J. now sat slouched in the back seat, staring at his knees.

Roelke opened the door, braced an arm on the car roof, and leaned over. “Your girlfriend says all she did was say hi to somebody she knew. And that you went ballistic.”

T.J. stayed mute, evidently fascinated by the composition of denim.

“Listen,” Roelke said. “It’s time for you to man up. You’re about to start a family. You may not have planned it, but there it is.”

No answer.

“T.J., you are right on the edge of making some very bad choices.
You are right on the edge of going down a road that will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“I just …” T.J. gave a weary shrug.

Roelke crouched beside the car. “You gotta step up, now, and do the right thing. Your girlfriend needs to know she can count on you. And your baby will need a dad who’s around, not locked up somewhere because he wasn’t willing to take responsibility for his own actions. You ready to be that guy?”

Finally the young man drooping in the back seat heaved a long sigh. “I suppose,” he muttered. “Yeah.”

“All right. Come on out.” Roelke helped T.J. to his feet, and removed the cuffs. Then he fished one of his business cards from his pocket, and pressed it into T.J.’s hand. “Listen, I know it can be tough. You got handed a whammy. If you feel like stuff is closing in sometime, give me a call. We can talk things over.”

T.J. didn’t answer. But he shoved the card into his pocket before walking away.

_____

Chloe was melting butter that evening when the phone rang. She added a splash of maple syrup, poured the golden-brown mixture over a bowl of warm popcorn, grabbed it, sprinted for the living room, managed to avoid stepping on Olympia, and snatched the receiver on the seventh ring. “Hello?”

“Where’d you run from?” Ethan asked.

“I was fixing popcorn.”

He laughed. “That brings back memories. You ate popcorn for dinner once or twice a week when we were in college.”

Chloe popped a sticky piece in her mouth and licked her fingers. “Still do.” Sometimes comfort food trumped nutrition.

“So, how’d your day with Markus go? When the phone rang so many times I was beginning to wonder if you’d brought him home.”

“Um, no. I am not ready to invite Markus Meili into my home.” Chloe slid into the chair by the phone and put the bowl on the floor, suddenly no longer hungry. “Ethan? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“Is that because you’ve got feelings for Roelke?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” She closed her eyes, trying to parse her thoughts. “Roelke’s a great guy, but he’s a
cop
, for God’s sake. We don’t have anything in common. He … he always seems to be connected with the bad stuff.” Even as she said the words, they felt unfair. It wasn’t Roelke’s fault that Harriet Van Dyne had been killed. And Roelke was the one who’d shown up, and held her, and gotten her safely home.

“You still there?”

“Yeah. But geez, Ethan! I don’t know how to handle this situation.”

“Oh, sweetie. I can’t figure that out for you.”

Chloe sighed. “I’m just starting to like myself again, you know? Just when I was getting some energy back, getting some focus again, Markus shows up.”

“Maybe you should back off from both of them,” Ethan suggested. “Give yourself some space. Time to think.”

Chloe heard a tiny lapping sound: Olympia, joyfully licking butter from the popcorn. Chloe pushed the kitten away with her foot. “That’s not a bad idea. Besides, I really need to spend time with my friend Dellyn.” Not that it was that simple. Both of the men he was suggesting she avoid had some tie to Dellyn Burke. Roelke was investigating the attack in her barn, and Markus was meeting her on Tuesday for a garden tour of Old World.

“How is Dellyn?”

“Not good.” Chloe tried to distract Olympia by tossing a fuzzy ball across the room. No sale. “A friend of hers, um, died unexpectedly yesterday. She’s taking it hard.”

“How’d the friend—”

“You saved me, you know,” Chloe said, both to forestall the question and because her gratitude toward this man suddenly bubbled up so fierce and hot that she had to put it into words. “When I was at the end of my string, you dropped everything and came to be with me. I want to be there for Dellyn. I mean, really
be
there for her. She’s so alone.”

“She’s not alone if she’s got you for a friend.”

“Sometimes life is all about showing up,” Chloe said. But her choice of words circled her back to the place she didn’t want to be: Markus, Roelke. In very different ways, both men had done that for her. “Why does life have to be so damn complicated?”

“I have no idea.”

“In this freaky way, things were easier when I was depressed,” she muttered. “Nothing mattered. Now a lot of things matter, and I don’t know what to do about any of them.”

“We-ell,” Ethan said dubiously, “that’s an improvement. I think. Just remember, you gotta take care of yourself first.”

“I know. And I know I have to keep my job, spend time with friends, strive for balance, blah-blah-blah.” Chloe pushed Olympia away from the bowl again. “Geez Louise. Maybe I got something out of therapy after all.”

“Here’s my advice. Give yourself time to figure out your love life.”

I don’t know if I have time, Chloe thought. Markus’s sabbatical was more than half over. Soon he’d be half a world away again. But she didn’t want to talk about Markus anymore.

By the time she hung up the phone five minutes later, Olympia had returned to the popcorn. Chloe picked up the bowl and dumped the contents into the kitchen trashcan. “You better not puke up all that butter,” she warned the kitten.

Olympia blithely began washing her ears.

Chloe suddenly felt exhausted. The last twenty-four hours had been too difficult, too full, too confusing. Too frickin’ much. “You know what? Go wild,” she told Olympia. “I’m going to bed.”

_____

The park was clean, the movie projector returned to the school, the folded chairs returned to the Methodist church, the volunteers thanked. T.J. and his girlfriend had departed holding hands. No members of the Police Committee had stopped to express discontent about the enterprise. Roelke decided to claim what victory he could, and head for home.

All he wanted to do first was take a quick look-see at Dellyn’s place. He parked across the street from her house, got out, and eased the truck door shut. The neighbors’ places were dark. No point in rousing anyone.

A single light burned from Dellyn’s living room. He decided to circle the property line. He walked along the far side of the garage, and paused at the building’s corner. Watching. Listening. He let minutes tick by as his eyes adjusted and the darkness eased into shadowed but distinct shapes—garden fence, scarecrow, shed, barn. Nothing.

No
. Someone was moving on the far side of the garden. The silhouette was bent low, but unmistakably human. It disappeared silently behind the garden shed.

Roelke snatched his revolver from its holster, nerves taut, every cell focused on the spot where the person had disappeared. He waited, listening for a footfall, straining to see more movement. Nothing. Whomever was creeping through Dellyn’s yard had gone to ground behind the shed.

Roelke eased away from the garage wall, ready to take cover, but nothing happened. OK. He had a clear, grassy path to the shed. He took it.

No sign of flight from the skulker. Roelke reached the shed’s near corner, kept going. Two more steps to the far wall.

Then, an explosion of movement. “Police!” Roelke yelled. “Stop right there! Hands in the air!”

The asshole took off. Roelke pounded after him. The guy was panicked, making no attempt at silence now. He brushed against a shrub and thrashed wildly.

Roelke flew at him. He landed square against the guy’s back and they both went down. “
Show me your hands!
” Roelke bellowed. The guy put up a brief and feeble struggle before going still, heaving for breath. Roelke holstered his gun and got the man cuffed before rising. He grabbed the guy’s arm and heaved him to his feet.

“What are you doing here?” Roelke barked. He was panting too, more from adrenalin than the brief exertion.

“Nothing!” the guy whined. “I wasn’t doing nothing wrong.” In the faint light he seemed to be about Roelke’s age. Middling size, a little paunchy. T-shirt and jeans.

“Then why’d you run?”

“I was
scared
, man! You came after me!”

“I came after you because it’s almost midnight, this isn’t your property, and you didn’t obey my instructions. What’s your name?”

No answer.

A light over the back door suddenly came on, casting a yellow glow that seemed blinding. Then the back door opened. “Hello?” Dellyn called. “What’s going on out there?”

Roelke began leading the asshole around the garden fence, toward the house. “It’s Officer McKenna, Miss Burke. I found some
one lurking out here. Did you call 9-1-1?” She stood on the top
step, barefoot, in shorts and a tank top. Holy toboggans, the woman was as foolhardy as Chloe. No wonder they were friends.

“No,” she said. “I heard the commotion and—”

“Go inside, lock the door, and make the call. Tell dispatch I need backup.” Roelke hadn’t seen any sign of a second intruder, but he wanted to be sure.

The cuffed guy attempted to pull free. “Let me go! I can explain everything!”

Roelke tightened his grip. “You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

Dellyn visored one hand over her eyes, shielding them from the glare. Then she padded toward them.

Dammit all to hell. “Miss
Burke!
” Roelke began.

“No, it’s OK.” Dellyn stopped three feet from the two men. She folded her arms and regarded the trespasser with a mixture of weariness and disgust. “What are
you
doing here?”

“You know this guy?” Roelke asked. “Who—”

Another figure burst from the shadows, rattling past a huge lilac bush. Short, plump. Wearing a blue bathrobe over a lacy nightgown, and fluffy slippers. Sonia Padopolous froze when she saw the three of them.

And the night gets a little more surreal, Roelke thought.

Sonia let out an anguished wail, put her hands over her eyes, and sank to the ground. “T-take him to jail.” She squeezed the words out between shuddering sobs. “I can’t lie for him anymore.”

August, 1876

Clarissa pulled the curtain
above the kitchen window aside, just a bit. He was here again. The German, Albrecht. He was shoveling rubble from the well into a wheelbarrow, steady and strong, his coarse shirt dark with sweat. Charles had gone to the blacksmith’s shop. The horse needed shoeing.

She let the curtain drop back into place. Turning, she leaned against the drysink and contemplated the food she’d set on the table. A simple meal of cold ham, potato salad, some juicy melon fresh from the garden. She’d offer Albrecht a meal. Maybe today he’d say yes, come inside, accept her hospitality.

And that’s all it would be. Clarissa knew Albrecht was in love with her. She loved him too, in a strange half-exciting, half-frightening way. She would never speak of it, or act upon it. She was a good Christian woman. She loved Charles, too. He was a good provider, this man she had promised to share life with. And in his own haphazard way, Charles loved her, too. Sometimes he made her feel special. She kept the pretty yellow stone he’d given her on the windowsill, where the sun played with it. It made her smile each time she saw it.

Clarissa walked to the front door, scanned the road. No sign yet of Charles. There must have been a wait at the smithy’s. And the flies were likely to devour the food she’d prepared.

She walked back through the house, outside, on to the well. “Mr. Bachmeier?” she called. “I’ve food prepared for a mid-day meal.”

Albrecht paused, wiping his forehead. Clarissa watched him think that over. He’d never agreed to come in the house unless Charles was present.

“Please,” she added. “You can’t work like a draft horse in this heat without taking some food. I’ve got ginger water, too. Charles will be along soon. He’ll join us then.”

Albrecht took one long inhale, blew it out. Then he tossed the shovel aside. “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he said. “I believe some refreshment will do me good.”

Sunday morning dawned hazy
and humid. Between the weather and events of late, Chloe had spent a restless night. “What a waste of electricity,” she muttered, stabbing the OFF button on the bedroom fan. She pulled on a clean pair of shorts and a sleeveless green top. It was too hot to eat. After feeding Olympia and tossing back a glass of cold grape juice, she headed for Dellyn’s place.

An unfamiliar car was in the driveway, so Chloe parked in front of the house. As she walked around the house, she saw her friend in the garden—in the embrace of a tall man. Chloe felt her eyebrows rise. Who the hell was
that?
She didn’t recognize Simon Sabatola until he stepped away from his sister-in-law. “So please, don’t worry about it,” he was saying as Chloe let herself in the garden gate.

“It’s not your responsibility,” Dellyn said. She saw Chloe and lifted a hand in greeting.

“It
is
,” Simon said firmly. He wore tan trousers and a navy polo shirt that screamed,
Rich executive trying to look casual
. “We’re still family, Dellyn. I’m not going to turn my back on promises I made your parents.”

Dellyn leaned over and pulled a clump of purslane from the soil, and tossed it onto a pile of weeds wilting in the sun. She wore flip-flops, cut-offs, and a grubby T-shirt. “Let me think about it, OK? I do appreciate it, though. Really.”

“Sure. We’ll talk soon.” Simon turned to leave and saw Chloe. “Good morning.”

Chloe could tell he was trying to place her in his memory. “I’m Chloe Ellefson,” she said. “We met at Bonnie’s funeral.”

Simon’s eyes got glassy. “Yes, of course. Nice to see you again.”

Chloe watched him get into his car and back out of the driveway. “Hey,” Chloe said to her friend. “I didn’t mean to chase your brother-in-law away.”

“You didn’t.”

Chloe regarded her friend. “Did you get any sleep last night? You look so tired.”

“Well, we had a bit of drama here last night.” Dellyn snorted. “You remember my neighbor, Sonia?”

“Sure.”

“She’s got a son. Alex is about my age, and we grew up playing together. Sonia was our 4-H leader.” Dellyn exhaled slowly, looking inexpressibly weary.

“And?”

Dellyn cocked her head at the little table and chairs set in one corner of the garden. “C’mon. Let’s sit down.” She paused to crouch by a melon patch. She felt several cantaloupes before pulling a jackknife from her back pocket and cutting one from its vine.

Chloe hitched one chair over so it was shaded, and sat down. “And?” she prompted.

“Well, things started getting weird when we hit junior high and high school. Alex developed this crush on me.” Dellyn looked at her with a hint of desperation in her eyes. “I never wanted to date him. It was one thing to play softball and raise chickens together. Quite another to … you know. I never led him on. I
swear,
Chloe. ”

Chloe raised a hand, palm forward. “Hold on. Did someone say you did?”

“Yeah. Sonia did.” Dellyn sliced the melon into glistening salmon-colored wedges, releasing a juicy and sweet aroma. “Grab a couple of plates, will you? There are some in that hamper. Anyway, Alex was always over here, always following me around at school. It got annoying. And one day a teacher heard me telling Alex to leave me alone. It got blown way out of proportion. Alex and I ended up in the principal’s office, and then Sonia storms in and accuses me of leading Alex on. She said that if I didn’t dress so suggestively, and act like a tease, he wouldn’t follow me around.”

Chloe glared toward the Padopolous house. “It’s bad enough when men say things like that.”

“Yeah.” Dellyn served up the melon. “I was sixteen. Pretty fragile, like most teens. Having Sonia accuse me like that really hit me hard.”

Chloe thought back to the day she’d met Sonia Padopolous. No wonder Dellyn seemed reserved with her neighbor.

“My mom came to school too, and she calmed everything down.
It was the only time I ever saw her angry at Sonia, but they patched things up. I’ve never been able to let it go, though.”

“It’s despicable to blame the woman when a man acts inappropriately,” Chloe said firmly. “But … what happened last night?”

“Well, the cops have been great, keeping an eye on my place since you got attacked. Late last night I heard someone yelling. I came outside and found Officer McKenna and Alex in my back yard. Alex was in handcuffs.”

“
What?
”
Chloe tried to process that. “Roelke found Alex sneaking around? Is Alex the one who tried to kill me with a cultivator?”

“The cops seem to think so. And Sonia does too. She showed up too. It was quite the scene.”

The air in Dellyn’s garden suddenly seemed lighter, sweeter. Chloe smiled.

“But … I don’t think Alex would do something like that.”

Chloe’s smile disappeared. “Really? What did he say about being in your back yard late at night?”

“He says he was trying to protect me. I know.” Dellyn rolled her eyes. “Evidently Sonia told him about what happened to you. Next thing she knows he arrives at her house, says he’s going to stay until the cops figure out what’s going on. Last night he kept saying he was just ‘patrolling.’ Making sure I was safe.”

“That sounds a little creepy. Especially if you didn’t even know he was around. Sort of stalker-like.”

“Yeah. But the thing is … Alex never scared me. Maybe that’s because I knew him so well as a child, but … he was more like an annoying puppy dog than a stalker.”

Chloe tasted the melon, and momentarily lost track of everything else. “Oh my
God
, this is good. Sweet, but almost a little spicy, too.”

“It’s called Hearts of Gold. Introduced in 1890.” Dellyn ran her thumb over the netted rind absently. “Alex has been in trouble with the law before, though. I think that’s why your cop friend was so hard on him last night. And evidently this was the last straw for Sonia. She’d been letting him stay at the house, but she’d told him to stay out of my yard.”

“Maybe he
is
the guy who hit me.” Chloe desperately wanted to think that her attacker had been identified and arrested. “If he’s a trouble-maker …”

Dellyn picked up her spoon, then put it back down. “Alex isn’t real bright, but he’s not evil. I saw a couple of teachers give Alex a really hard time when I think he’d done his best. Once on the playground, when some kids were bothering a kid with Down Syndrome, Alex exploded. Then he got in trouble for starting a fight. He’s got this protective instinct buried inside somewhere.”

Chloe chewed on the inside of her lip. She didn’t know Alex Padopolous, and wasn’t quite so ready to conclude he hadn’t been in Dellyn’s yard for all the wrong reasons. “Where is Alex now?”

“I have no idea. Officer McKenna wanted me to press charges for trespassing, but I just couldn’t do it.”

So. Whether Alex or someone else, whoever had picked up a hand-carved cultivator and tried to bring it down on her skull was still out there. Maybe it was whoever had killed Harriet, too. Chloe shuddered, and furtively glanced over both shoulders. She still felt vulnerable, and her instincts said Dellyn was vulnerable, too.

She needed to talk with Roelke.

“I’ll try to find out if the cops have learned anything more about Alex,” Chloe promised. “And whether they’ve turned up anything about Harriet’s killer.”

Dellyn shut her eyes briefly. “I’d appreciate that. I hope they don’t have reason to pin that on Alex too. I just can’t imagine …”

“Then let’s not,” Chloe said firmly. Time to change the subject. “It looks like your brother-in-law is in pretty rough shape.”

“This Thursday is his and Bonnie’s wedding anniversary.”

“Oh geez.”

Dellyn wiped away a tear, then shook her head as if to clear it. “Sorry. I just found out that Simon paid the property taxes on this place last year.”

Chloe blinked. “Um … wow.”

“I knew my parents were living pretty close to the edge. I didn’t know they were
that
close.”

“So … what does that mean for you?”

“Simon knows I’m broke. He offered to pay the taxes again this year.”

That made Chloe uneasy. Definitely uneasy.

“Simon also said that if I want to sell the place, he’d buy it. He said the market’s iffy right now because of the recession, so it would be easiest if he bought the property now, sat on it, and then sold it himself at a fair market price when things pick up.”

An image of Simon Sabatola pawing through musty cardboard cartons, searching desperately for the Eagle Diamond, drifted through Chloe’s mind. She opened her mouth, closed it again.

“What?” Dellyn asked.

“Well, I know this will sound stupid, but is there any reason why Simon might have an ulterior motive for being so generous? I mean, you were concerned that someone might be torqued up about the Eagle Diamond. Valerie’s article was in a popular magazine—maybe Simon—”

Dellyn shook her head. “Something weird is going on with the diamond. I still haven’t been able to find my dad’s files about it, which bugs the hell out of me. But I have a hard time with the notion that Simon is setting his sights on some crazy get-rich-quick scheme that involves running me out of my house. For one thing, he’s already rich. And he’s smart. If he wants to get richer, he’ll do it with AgriFutures.”

“Yeah.”

“Chloe, I had no
idea
my parents were struggling financially. It’s not like farmers have great pension plans, but I guess I figured that by selling off some land they’d gotten what they needed. After they died, and I started dealing with the bank, I found out how little they actually had in savings. The whole property tax thing never crossed my mind.”

“You don’t pay those until December, right?”

“Yeah.” Dellyn shoved her plate away untouched. “But maybe Simon’s offer is a blessing. Maybe I should just pack up and head back to Seattle. Or maybe someplace new.”

Chloe felt another wrench of worry. She wanted Dellyn to stay in Eagle. And not just because Dellyn was her friend, either. “Please give yourself some time.”

Dellyn shrugged.

Chloe cocked her head, wishing she knew how to help her friend. “Want to tackle some more of the artifact inventory?” The stuffy attic seemed inviting, now. No one could watch them there, or creep up from behind.

“Thanks, Chloe.” Dellyn managed a small smile. “That would be good. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

They tossed the melon remains on the compost pile and took the sticky plates into the kitchen. “Maybe we’ll find some treasure today,” Chloe said, striving for a light tone. “Something you can sell in good conscience, and make enough to pay your own property taxes. You never know.”

“I won’t hold my breath.” Dellyn rinsed the plates and left them in the sink. “Listen, before we go up … here.” She picked up a key from the counter and held it out. “I got my locks changed. Would you be willing to take a spare key?”

“Well … sure.” Chloe accepted it.

“Thanks.” Dellyn laughed a little, but it sounded forced. “I’m
getting so scattered I’m likely to lose my own.” She turned and headed
down the hall.

At least she didn’t give the spare to Simon, Chloe thought as she slid the key into her pocket. Somehow, though, that was only scant comfort.

_____

That evening Roelke sat at his tiny kitchen table. Index cards were arrayed precisely in front of him, each bearing a name or an incident. He’d been playing with ideas for an hour, trying to fit pieces of the various puzzles confounding him lately into an ordered pattern.

He didn’t have squat.

Finally he collected the cards into a neat stack. The top card said
Alex Padopolous. Says left Waukesha 8/2, day after Ch. attacked in Burke barn. Could have left the night before?
Padopolous swore up and down that he had nothing to do with Chloe’s attack. But his own mother didn’t even know whether to believe him or not.

Roelke put the
Time Out
album by the Dave Brubeck Quartet on the stereo, and sat down in the living room with his pocketknife and the block of wood he was whittling into a turtle. His father had taught him to whittle. Him and Patrick both. The boys had shaved away at bars of soap before their father permitted them to graduate to soft pine. Now, two decades later, Roelke sometimes found that having something in his hands helped him think.

Before he’d taken three strokes, the phone rang. “It’s me,” Chloe said in his ear. “I hope you don’t mind me calling. I—”

“I don’t mind.”

“Good. Dellyn told me what happened with Alex Padopolous last night. She doesn’t think Alex is the person who tried to brain me in her barn.”

“Yeah, I know,” Roelke said. “His fingerprints are on file, though. I’m going to check his prints against whatever the crime lab found on the cultivator. Haven’t gotten results yet.”

“Is there any news about Harriet Van Dyne’s murder?”

“The chief’ll have an update for us tomorrow.”

“Oh. Um … listen, Simon was at Dellyn’s house when I arrived. I mentioned the word ‘funeral’ and he started to cry. Dellyn said his wedding anniversary is coming up.”